Arnold Mindell’s Quantum Mind. The Edge Between Physics and Psychology (2000) is a wonderfully creative exploration of parallels between twentieth-century physics and Mindell’s own broadly Jungian understanding of psychology. The book explains both the physics and the psychology in considerable detail, making them accessible for intelligent beginners. The psychological exercises that Mindell scatters through the book are particularly stimulating and mind-expanding. Mindell was trained at MIT in physics and at Zurich in Jungian psychology, and he has been a leading teacher and writer for decades in the latter field, so he has very strong credentials. He writes clearly and often evocatively. I don’t know of another book that explores this territory in so much detail and with comparable verve.
At the same time, one has to acknowledge that much of what Mindell writes is inevitably very speculative. His starting point, Jungian psychology, is itself viewed with considerable suspicion by most academic psychologists. They place more emphasis than the Jungians do on quantitative and controlled experiments and much less emphasis on the study of subjective experience, such as dreams and synchronicities. Much of academic psychology aspires to use methods that are comparable to those that are used in physics and the other “hard” sciences. The Jungians, by contrast, are more interested in the content of experience, which as such doesn’t lend itself to controlled experiment.
So Mindell’s investigation places itself squarely in the middle of the great divide between the “two cultures,” the sciences and the humanities, “objectivity” and “subjectivity,” which have so much difficulty communicating with each other in our time that they have come to seem almost like two separate worlds. Writers who try to deal constructively with this divide must be very brave, since they’ll inevitably meet withering critique from one side or the other or both.
Mindell is emboldened, in his endeavor, by the remarkable developments in twentieth-century physics, especially relativity theory and quantum mechanics. These appear to undermine the long-standing Newtonian deterministic conception of nature, and even the separation between “object” and “subject,” on which the Newtonian consensus was built. Like quite a few other commentators, Mindell senses that these developments may open up an opportunity for useful interaction and even perhaps synthesis between the two cultures.
So he goes on a long journey of exploration through first the mathematics of Newtonian science (in which he sees a trace of subjectivity in the “imaginary numbers” on which calculus depends); then quantum entanglement; then relativity and its unique constant, the speed of light; then black holes and virtual particles. In each case he comes up with apparent parallels in his Jungian or “process work” psychology.
Mindell acknowledges candidly that many physicists won’t feel compelled to acknowledge these parallels as significant. Physicists in training are regularly told not to worry what is the real meaning of (say) quantum indeterminacy or entanglement, but just learn the mathematical tools that have proven to be so powerful in practical applications. Figures like Wolfgang Pauli (who coauthored a book with Jung) and David Bohm are exceptions, and viewed with skepticism by their colleagues. Mindell hopes that physics in the future will broaden its horizons.
Nearly a century after the great breakthroughs of relativity and quantum mechanics were made, this seems rather optimistic. I see no reason to think that the discipline of physics will become any broader, as long as all of the financial incentives push it in the other direction. What one can reasonably hope is that the broader culture will become less idolatrous toward physics and toward quantitative/ experimental methods in general. And we might then see more individual scientists like Pauli and Bohm speaking to the broad issues that their discipline, as such, will probably continue to ignore.
The main thing that may help to reduce our idolatry of physics is that spokespeople for the “humanities,” including humanistic and transpersonal psychology, are becoming less academic and more deeply experiential. We can see this in Mindell’s own “process work,” which goes far beyond the conventional “therapeutic hour” and the residual “intellectualism” of (even) much Jungian practice. Humanists who have this kind of deeper grounding and flexibility will be more self-confident, and better communicators and teachers.
An intellectual development that may provide aid in this whole process is the re-emergence, in recent decades, of humanistic and transpersonal philosophy and religious thought. After a long period in which leading academic philosophers idolized the hard sciences, a significant part of academic philosophy in recent decades has been rediscovering a broader perspective that was articulated by many of its classical authors, such as Plato, Kant, Hegel, and Whitehead.
Coming from this reborn, broader kind of philosophy, as I do, what strikes me about Mindell’s work as well as about Jung’s is that they draw heavily, without really knowing they’re doing so, on the broadly Platonic tradition in philosophy, religion, and literature. This broadly Platonic tradition is so deeply ensconced in many aspects of our culture that we scarcely notice it. If it were properly studied and thus “amplified” and brought explicitly to bear on our ongoing issues, the effect could be greater than we imagine. In particular, it could facilitate precisely the sort of intelligent interaction between the “two cultures,” science and the humanities, which Mindell is trying to help bring about.
Here are a couple of examples of how Mindell draws on our broadly Platonic cultural background. In his pivotal chapter 30 on “The Self-Reflecting Universe,” which sums up his journey through the physics theories that I mentioned, Mindell speaks of being “liberated, free of CR [Consensus Reality] forms” (p. 479). In the final chapter of the book, Mindell speaks of “self-reflection” which “manifests in the sense of liberation from yourself while the outer system remains the same” (p. 582).
By speaking of “liberation” and being “free,” Mindell appeals to a deep need and ideal, which he doesn’t spell out. He doesn’t tell us how “Consensus Reality” or “myself” make me less free than I could be, or how it could be reasonable to imagine becoming more free in these areas. But we know, in some fashion, what he’s assuming here. We know that a reality that’s not just a widely-shared “consensus,” and an experience that’s not just “me” (in my familiar forms), could well represent a valuable kind of freedom, because they could bring me closer to a deeper, truer “me.”
This coming closer to a deeper, truer me, is precisely what Plato’s philosophy is all about. A famous instance is his allegory of the man who has been shackled in a cave all his life, seeing only shadows that are projected on the cave’s walls in front of him. When the man is finally allowed to leave the cave and see the real world and the sun, he has been liberated from the shadows, which we can take to be his familiar ideas and familiar desires. He now has a chance to form ideas and desires through his own thought, rather than just habit, so that they’ll be his own, in a way that the shadows weren’t. In this way, he finds his true self, for the first time.
It’s a version of the “hero’s journey,” from mythology. The “true self” is the golden treasure that the hero steals from the dragon. And in our ostensibly “scientific” age, the quest for our true selves is still everywhere. It’s what religions and self-help programs offer to help us to do, and what novels, TV shows, and movies show us sometimes, through challenging experiences, succeeding in doing. Even black comedies like “The Simpsons” and “Waiting for Godot” get their punch from their mordant despair over our chances of succeeding in the quest to discover who we really are.
Our culture has always focused on this quest, so we take it for granted. Mindell takes it for granted. But it’s precisely what deterministic science, including some of the latest neuroscience, appears to challenge. So we need to explore just how deeply we experience this “seeking our true selves,” and whether we could ever really think of ourselves differently. Why, for example, would we care about neuroscience itself, if we didn’t care about what we should really believe about the world, and thus about getting beyond whatever mental habits we happen to have been trained in, to a kind of functioning that would relate to the truth? We want our beliefs to be freely arrived at, not just an “automatic” response to shadows. And we think that the “we” that wants beliefs of this kind is truer than the “we” that just wants to believe what we’re familiar with.
This is Plato for you, and this is our culture. It’s much deeper, I submit, and much less “optional,” than some of the “gee-whiz” literature about neuroscience, etc., would have us believe. Because it provides the motivation for the sciences themselves, as well as for the humanities (philosophy, religion, and the arts). This is why it provides, as far as I can see, the only promising basis for a new, deeper interaction between the two cultures.
A second deeply Platonic idea that Mindell relies on but doesn’t identify as such can be seen in his distinction between two kinds of death. In the first, “you experience yourself as endangered, threatened, annihilated.” In the second, “you do not experience annihilation but fluidly step out of time and become your sentient self, the perennial immortal, one with all things” (p. 514). Plato describes this second, exceptional kind of death in his Symposium. And the Symposium gives an extensive account of what makes this second kind of death possible. Namely, that we clarify what we care about in ourselves, which is (ultimately) our effort to be who we truly are. And secondly that we learn how to appreciate other people as embodying this same effort, so that the world becomes a “sea of beauty,” as Plato puts it, rather than a bunch of competing and endangered islands.
This is the vision of all of the western mystics, from Plato through Plotinus, Meister Eckhart, Hegel, William Blake, Walt Whitman, Rilke. Of the eastern mystics too, of course, but we’ve heard about them. What many of us haven’t heard so much about is our home-grown Greek, German, British, and American mystics. Least of all have we heard that the central tradition of western philosophy and psychology, from Plato through William James, Alfred North Whitehead, and Carl Gustav Jung, draws on and articulates experiences of this “sea of beauty.” So that these experiences are “in our bones,” culturally, and they come out of Arnie Mindell’s mouth without needing to be explained or defended.
But the more conscious we can be of them, the more effective they’ll be. So let’s get to know our tradition and celebrate it. Let’s share more of it with Arnie Mindell, and (more importantly) with Stephen Hawking, Richard Dawkins, and their followers, when they show interest, so that as many of us as possible can “fluidly step out of time” and die happy.